Love from a to Z

anyone now, just to stop this thing before it started, but then . . . it would
keep something open.
In Emma P.’s eyes it would mean that there could be a chance.
But while Emma P. was someone kind and fun, she wasn’t the someone
for me. She wasn’t the someone I chose.
She was part of the friend family I’d been dealt.
I hesitated, trying to select my words carefully.
And then Zayneb, sitting at the back of the plane, a light above her head,
came to me.
Wait. Yeah, there had been someone else starting to put roots in my heart.
And even though it lasted only until yesterday afternoon, after which the
roots froze cold, their remnants were still there.
I could call them to mind.
Because this was an emergency situation.
“This is hard to say, Emma, but yeah, there is someone.” I stopped
scratching. “I met her right before getting back to Doha.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice even softer.
And then there was nothing, no more words from her, or questions,
nobody else around to break the silence. No elbow scratching from me
either.
Just her face clouding fast in disappointment and me trying not to see it.
Then, after a long, long pause, she uncrossed her legs, dropped them, and
leaned forward so she was at the edge of the ottoman, her hands clutching

---

the cushion on either side of her, as though she were going to launch herself
out of it. “Okay, I guess. I guess I should be happy to know the truth.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Because it wasn’t the truth.
• • •
As an act of solidarity with me and my diagnosis, everyone in the group,
including Emma D., who’d dropped by while we were gathering for the
photo, after visiting a friend, and even Tsetso, who was already back at
university in France, posted the group picture of us on all our socials, with
no message accompanying it.
We posted it right then and there, at the exact same time, everyone back
at our spots on the patio, Connor passing around bags of chips he’d
rummaged from the kitchen.
It was one of those pictures that was frame worthy, that would be talked
about when we grew up, that already felt nostalgic.
I looked at it and whispered a prayer of gratitude.
Gratitude for the fact that I did have this special family of friends.
In the photo, we were settled on the sunshine-filled lawn, looking up,
sitting in a semicircle around one of the big white rocks. Hanna had stood
on top of it to take our picture with her iPad, after a vigorous debate with
Connor as to whose device had the better camera.
I’m in the middle, Jacob on one side of me, with Madison and Isaac
beside him, Connor on the other side of me, and then Emma Z., Emma D.,
and Emma P. We were all smiling up into the camera. But Emma P. and me?
Our smiles were forced.
“Your sister takes great pictures, Adam,” Emma D. said, motioning
Hanna over. “This is awesome, Hanna. Thanks.”
“See Adam? I am a great photographer!” Hanna crossed her arms at me
before flouncing over to sit on the arm of my chair.
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You deleted the pictures I sent you from the museum yesterday. The
ones with Zayneb.”
I stared at her.
Hanna laughed. “I saw you deleting them last night! From my bedroom
window!”

---

She scooted away, back to her bike.
Oh God. She’s such a sneak. Her bedroom window faces the patio.
Where I’d been sitting last night after dinner, while Dad read to Hanna in
her room.
She must have used that telescope she keeps at her window.
Everyone looked at me, some more pointedly than others.
I avoided Emma P.’s face.
“I was with Zayneb before I came here.” Emma D. picked up a chip from
the pile in her palm. “She found out more information on how her
grandmother passed away.”